


John Discovers Fire

by RosiePaw



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-06
Updated: 2010-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-10 10:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosiePaw/pseuds/RosiePaw





	John Discovers Fire

“...which is when the energy beam shot out of the console and struck Dr. McKay in the back of the head, rendering him unconscious.”  Lorne wasn’t quite avoiding John’s gaze as he gave his report, but he wasn’t quite meeting it either.  “We returned to Atlantis as quickly as possible.  Dr. McKay was still unconscious at the time we brought him to the infirmary.”

“Thank you, Major,” said Elizabeth.  “Dr. Beckett?”

“Rodney appears to be suffering from an unusually severe case of retrograde amnesia.  For example, he’s apparently forgotten how to speak any known language, even though he’s retained the _concept_ of language.”

John frowned.  “How do you figure that, Doc?”

“His, ah, vocalizations are quite expressive.  And extensive.  He’s been trying to communicate with us ever since he regained consciousness and getting a bit frustrated that we don’t understand.”

Okay, at least Rodney’s core personality was intact.

“In addition, he appears to have forgotten most learned social behaviour...”

John shot a pre-emptive glare around the table, just in case.  He wasn’t in the mood for cheap jokes at Rodney’s expense right now.

“...instead falling back on more instinctive behavioural modes.”

“He hits better when he’s not over-thinking it,” Ronon commented approvingly.

 “I’m sure the nurse whose nose he broke appreciates that,” snapped Beckett.

Whoa, John hadn’t heard about _that _detail.

“I assigned a Marine to stay in the infirmary with him, sir,” interjected Lorne hastily.  “For everyone’s safety...  Lorne here, go ahead.”  He paused a moment, listening to someone on his radio.  “He what?  _How?_...  I see.  Okay, I’ll be right down.  Get a team assembled to meet me.”

John could guess what Lorne was about to say and he almost sympathized with his XO for having to say it.  _Almost_.

“Sir, Dr. McKay’s escaped.”

***

Cpl. Jacobson was young, on his first tour of duty on Atlantis.  At the moment, he was also rigid with embarrassment.  It probably didn’t help that not only Beckett but also Ronon and Zelenka had followed John and Lorne to the infirmary.  “I was only gone a moment, sir.  One of the nurses needed a hand lifting a piece of equipment.”

“So you left your assigned post in order to offer assistance.”  Lorne’s voice was quiet, almost expressionless.  The corporal swallowed audibly. 

“Yes, sir.  But I kept my body between Dr. McKay and the door panel as I punched the unlocking sequence to leave, and I relocked the door behind myself.  I, uh – I thought it would hold him, sir!”

Beckett shook his head.  “There’d already been medical staff in and out of the room while Rodney was in there, and I’m sure they didn’t think to block Rodney’s view while they deactivated the lock.”

“That didn’t occur to me, sir.  Sorry, sir.”

Lorne studied the kid for a moment and then glanced at John.  “Any other questions, sir?”

John couldn’t think of any.  He was kind of pissed off that Jacobson had screwed up, but also kind of proud of Rodney for demonstrating that a Cro-Magnon genius was still a genius.

“No questions, Major.  So, McKay’s on the loose.  Where’s he headed?”

“A place to hide out.  And food.”  Ronon paused thoughtfully.  “Maybe food first.”

After seven years as a Runner, Ronon probably knew what he was talking about.

“We send one team to the mess,” suggested Lorne.  “And then a few more teams working their way outwards from the more populated areas – McKay’ll probably be trying to get away from people.”

“Without using the transporters.  He won’t know how they work.”

“Ronon is probably correct – but only until Rodney sees someone else using one.  Then he will figure them out.  He is still Rodney McKay.”  Zelenka sounded a little defensive on his colleague’s behalf.

“Good point, Dr. Z.  Anyone have any other ideas?  The LSDs should be some help, especially once McKay gets into less populated areas...”

“Which he would not do if he knew about LSDs, but he does not.  Yet.”

“Zelenka’s right,” said Ronon, studying the Czech as he spoke.  “If McKay figures out the LSDs, he’ll stay where there’s more people to blend in with.” 

“In the other words, the longer we sit here, the less of an advantage we have.  Lorne, form up the teams and send them out.  Zelenka, if you can come up with anything to help us track McKay...”

“I will let you know immediately.”

“And I’ll let you know if I discover anything further as to what caused this and how we can fix it,” put in Beckett.

“Thanks.  Ronon, you want in on a search team?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, but remember you’ve still got one arm in a cast.”

“_You_ remember you’re still limping, Sheppard.”

John didn’t quite grimace.  If he and Ronon had been up to par, Rodney wouldn’t have gone out with Lorne’s team today, wouldn’t have gotten struck with any mysterious energy beams, wouldn’t be leading them on a chase through Atlantis...

John’s radio crackled to life.  “Sheppard here...”  He motioned for Lorne to listen in.

“Colonel Sheppard, this is Dr. Tayano.”

Tayano?  Oh, right, Tayano.  Recent arrival.  One of the chemists.  Pretty, petite, rather charming.

“I have just seen Dr. McKay!  This was in the residential section on the fourth level.  I tried to speak with him, but I was not sure if he understood or what his intentions were.  When he began to approach me, I, uh...”

Panicked, John supplied silently.

“...thought it better to leave that location and report to you.”

“Dr. Tayano, please clarify what you mean by ‘leave that location.’”

“We were almost in front of a transporter.  It seemed to be the most sensible thing to do, yes?”

“Uh, yes.  Thank you for reporting in, Doctor.”

“Yes, yes, anything to help!”

“Sheppard out.”

“So much for the no-transporter advantage,” muttered Lorne.

John glared at him and then addressed the group.  “Everyone’s got their assignments?  Then let’s move out and find McKay before he discovers fire.”

***

John spent the better part of the next hour torn between laughing out loud and banging his head against a wall.  Having teams of Marines stealthily sneaking up on targets that turned out to be _other_ teams of Marines was really only funny the first half-dozen times.  On the other hand, John did feel a certain bemused pride as Rodney continued to out-stealth the lot of them.

As Ronon put it, “McKay’s been holding out on us.  Didn’t know he was this good.”

Cpl. Jacobson, perhaps trying to redeem himself, had put forward the bright idea of setting guards on the stores of MREs.  That lasted until Ronon pointed out that MREs didn’t look like food unless you already _knew_ they were food – and really, not even then.

At least Jacobson had the sense to stay with the rest of his team.  Morrione and Levesque got separated from theirs but continued on until they came to two rooms at the end of a corridor.  _Of course_, they each decided to take one instead of sticking together and searching one room at a time.  This led to Morrione radioing frantically for a medical team after he found Levesque lying on the floor, unconscious. 

By the time John and Lorne got there, Levesque was awake but groggy.  He’d tripped on something coming into the room – further examination revealed the remains of a trip wire – and had then been struck on the back of the head.

“With this?” asked John, picking up a heavy-looking Ancient artifact from the floor.  It chirruped pleasantly at him and began to display coloured lights in attractive patterns.  Normally Rodney would have been horrified at the thought of using it as a weapon, but even the Pegasus standards of normality didn’t apply to the current situation.

“I, uh, I don’t know.  Sir.  Ow!”  Levesque tried to turn his head and glare at the medic probing the lump on the back of his head.

“Your sidearm is missing, Corporal,” observed Lorne.

“Yes, sir, I know, sir.  Also, the, uh, I was, uh – I was carrying an LSD.  That’s gone, too.  Sir.”

 A Cro-Magnon genius on the loose with a firearm and a tracking device.  Just what they needed.

“Anything else missing, Corporal?”

“My radio, sir.  My utility knife.  And I had a half-eaten powerbar in my pocket, sir.”

Make that a Cro-Magnon genius with a firearm and a tracking device who now knew that sometimes food came wrapped in foil packages and who therefore didn’t need to get anywhere _near_ the mess to find provisions.  John wondered what Rodney was likely to figure out next.  

“Colonel?”  Lorne got his attention.  “Do you think we should we post a guard on the jumper bay?”

***

In the end, it was Ronon who came up with an idea that worked.

“Sheppard, that party we had in the mess, with the tree?  And the Marine in the red suit and fake beard?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“We fit pretty much everyone in the city in there.  If we used the radios to tell everyone to go there _now_...”

“McKay’ll hear that too – he’s got a radio,” argued Lorne.

“Yeah, but I bet he won’t understand it,” Ronon replied.  “English is a lot harder to figure out than mechanical stuff.” 

Zelenka nodded vigourously.  “Even if Rodney does understand, what can he do?  If he follows other people to the mess, he will be caught.  If he remains outside the mess, his location will obvious on the LSDs and he will be caught.”

“Do it,” said John.

It wasn’t as simple as that, of course, but an hour later they had the entire population of Atlantis crammed into the mess, the cooks churning out freshly baked cookies (Elizabeth’s idea), one lone life-sign coming from inside a storage room and a group of nervous Marines clustered immediately outside.

“He’s in the back behind that pile of furniture, sir,” Jacobson stage-whispered.  “Every time we try getting closer, he starts yelling and banging Levesque’s sidearm on the floor.”

God.  “Is the safety on?” asked John.

“Can’t tell, sir.”

“He knows it’s a weapon, so he’s using it to threaten us, but he hasn’t figured out how it works yet,” surmised Lorne.  “Maybe he thinks it’s some kind of club?”

“That’ll change fast once he sees one fired,” Ronon pointed out.

“But we can approach and he won’t fire on us first?” asked Morrione hopefully.

“Blbci!” spat Zelenka, “Even as you approach him with your guns _pointing at him_ and your fingers on the triggers, this will be giving Rodney information as to how guns work.  Are you wagering that you can seize him before he figures out how to fire?  At close range?”

“Case of beer on McKay,” offered Ronon.

“Uh, Ronon, I think that was a figure of speech,” John said hastily.

“I also think Ronon will not find any takers,” sniffed Zelenka.  Several of the Marines looked offended.  Morrione even opened his mouth to reply, but shut it again at a look from Lorne.

“Okay, this is how it’s going down,” said John.  “Everyone get away from the door.”  He stood up and approached the open doorway, making sure he was in view from the pile of furniture.  Then he ostentatiously drew his sidearm and handed it off to Lorne, who looked unhappy.

“Rodney, buddy, I don’t know if you recognize me, but I’m hoping you do.  I’m gonna walk in there, nice and easy, and you’re gonna let me, okay?”

“_Colonel_,” hissed Lorne.

“Might work,” Ronon contradicted.  “_I_ trusted Sheppard.  Here, take these.”  He handed over a napkin-wrapped package that smelled like...  “Got ‘em from the mess.  Chocolate with chocolate chips.”

“Bait for the wild McKay?  Thanks.”  John stepped into the room, holding the package ahead of himself at arms’ length.  There were rustling noises from behind the pile of furniture.

“These are for you, Rodney.”  A step forward.  “Thought your blood sugar might be dropping by now.”  Another step.  “Don’t want you to get hurt, Rodney.”  Not ever, thought  John.  You’ve been hurt too many times already.

Almost there now, a couple more steps...  John jumped a little when Rodney started talking again, loud and excited but not quite yelling.  More like a conversation?

Holding his position, John tried to reply.  “Can you smell the cookies, Rodney?  They’re for you.  A gift.  Sort of a, uh, token of safety.  We don’t want to hurt you.  We want you to be safe, Rodney.  _I_ want you to be safe.”

Another step took him, finally, in sight of Rodney.  Also in sight of the Beretta Rodney was holding in one hand and the knife he was holding in the other.  Rodney was barefoot and still dressed in infirmary scrubs, but the weapons, the lifted chin and the laser-blue glare put paid to any appearance of vulnerability.

John wished he had a camera.

What he had instead were the cookies, which he extended towards Rodney.  He could see the other man’s nostrils twitching, but Rodney didn’t move.  Okay, try something else.  John pulled the cookies back, unwrapped the napkin and broke off a piece, which he chewed and swallowed.  He licked his lips and patted his stomach, then held out the remainder of the cookie.

And finally, _finally_, Rodney put the knife down and reached out to take the cookie.  His eyes flew wide open on the first cautious bite, but they never left John and John never moved while Rodney was eating.  Then, ignoring the murmurs from the doorway, he offered Rodney the second cookie Ronon had given him.

Rodney was halfway through this one when he paused and said something to John.

“Yeah, good cookies, buddy, huh?” John made a big deal out of smiling and nodding.  Rodney stared at him and nodded back.  Then, still keeping his eyes on John, he stepped backwards, laid down the Beretta and started rummaging around in a laden sack he’d had tucked behind him.  He extracted a powerbar and offered it to John – slowly, almost shyly.

Aha!  Exchanging food was a basic sign of trust and goodwill, and thank you, Teyla, for pounding _that_ concept into your teammates’ heads.  John accepted the powerbar, unwrapped it – one of the peanut butter ones, not bad – and ate it as Rodney finished his cookie.

Okay, they seemed to be ready to move on to step two.  Whatever that was.  Thinking of Teyla, John stepped forward and so slowly, so carefully, reached out to touch Rodney’s forearm with his fingertips.  He waited as Rodney froze and then relaxed again before laying his fingers along the skin, gradually wrapping his entire hand around Rodney’s arm.  When John did the same with his other hand, Rodney reached out and wrapped his hands around _John’s_ arms.  The gesture wasn’t entirely unexpected, but the touch caught John off-guard and he inhaled sharply.  Rodney muttered some kind of question, his eyes fixed on John’s.

“It’s okay, buddy,” John whispered back, and tipped his head forward.  After a moment, Rodney imitated the motion, so that their foreheads brushed in the Athosian greeting.

This was, of course, the moment that one of the Marines decided to call out, “You did it, sir!”  Rodney dove for his weapons as two other idiots started to step into the room.  Ronon grabbed one from behind, almost yanking him off his feet, while Lorne took care of the other.

John got between Rodney and the door, his back to Rodney and his arms spread out in a protective gesture.  “Everyone back off and be quiet!”  Then, turning back to Rodney, “Sorry about that, buddy.  I won’t let them hurt you.  I won’t let them drag you out.  We’ll leave when you come with me on your own.”  Tentatively, he offered one hand.

And Rodney took it.

***

It took some more persuasion, but Rodney finally allowed John to escort him out of the storage room, still carrying the Beretta in one hand.  The other held the sack containing the knife, an LSD and what appeared to be several dozen powerbars.

“Good foraging skills,” commented Ronon, who had their six.

The next question was where to take Rodney.  Beckett wanted him back in the infirmary, but Rodney balked when he realized that was their destination.  Given the Beretta, John decided not to insist.

“Doc, does he actually need _medical_ supervision or just someone to keep an eye on him?  Because Ronon and I can take him back to his quarters, and I’ll stay with him for a few hours.  Teyla’s back from the mainland this evening.  If I get can him to accept her and Ronon, we can take turns.”

“Aye, then, but let me know if you notice any changes in his behaviour.”

Good enough.  John figured they could stop by his own quarters first so he could grab his laptop and get some work done while Rodney-sitting.  Rodney followed him in, looking around and sniffing the air.  When John tried to get him to leave, however, Rodney retreated to the far corner of the room and disagreed vociferously.

“Likes it here,” said Ronon from the doorway.

“C’mon, buddy, you’ve got your own quarters, wanna come see?”  Apparently not, so John radioed Beckett to tell him about the change in plan.

After Ronon left and John settled down with his laptop, Rodney gradually relaxed and began to explore.  He sniffed _everything_ including – and this was somewhat embarrassing – the contents of John’s laundry bin.  Then he came over and started watching the laptop screen over John’s shoulder.  At this point John had the bright idea of radioing for a spare laptop and introducing Rodney to computer games.  After a few false starts, Rodney’s attention was caught by a billiards game.  John could practically see him calculating the angles in his head.  Hell, maybe the familiarity of using a laptop would help bring Rodney back to himself.

***

With Rodney muttering incomprehensibly in the background, John found he was able to relax and focus on his reports.  When Teyla and Ronon showed up with supper for four, he was surprised to realize how much time had gone by.

Rodney was initially wary of Teyla.  He seemed to think she was going to attack _John_, judging from the way he kept trying to get between them.  But between the three of them, they finally persuaded Rodney to touch foreheads first with Teyla, then with Ronon.  Introductions made, they all sat down to supper, which both Rodney and Ronon proceeded to eat without benefit of silverware.

“What?” said Ronon, catching John’s and Teyla’s glances.  “I’m keeping McKay company.”

Ronon and John filled Teyla in on the details of Rodney’s situation.  Teyla shared the news from the mainland with them.  Rodney talked non-stop without saying anything anyone else could understand.

It was all surprisingly normal.

After supper they watched “Quest for Fire” because Ronon thought Rodney might like it and Teyla said she’d rather watch that than something with car chases and explosions, which was John’s idea of what Rodney might like.  Indeed, Rodney watched the movie with great attention, occasionally making comments in such a sarcastically cutting tone that John was pretty sure he was tearing apart the science.

All of which led inevitably to the moment when people started yawning and it became necessary to face the question of where Rodney was sleeping that night.

“Maybe we should try getting him to his own quarters again?” suggested John.  “Someplace familiar and comfortable?”

“He seems very comfortable where he is,” observed Teyla.

Which was actually part of the problem, not that John wanted to come out and say so.  Having started the movie sitting _next to_ John, Rodney had ended up leaning _against_ John, so warm and relaxed that John kept thinking of things he’d promised himself long ago never to think about.  At one point Rodney’s hand had ended up on John’s thigh.  John was pretty sure this was inadvertent and he didn’t like to shove Rodney away, so he’d captured the errant hand in his own and kept hold of it.

Having Rodney spend the night “comfortably” in John’s quarters was just about the last thing John wanted.  However, Teyla, usually so perceptive, seemed to think he was concerned about finding a cot and spare bedding. 

“Ronon and I will see to this, John.”

Ronon looked at John pointedly and added, “You gave him cookies, Sheppard,” before following Teyla out the door.

When Teyla and Ronon came back, John was still trying to figure out what cookies had to do with anything.  They set the cot up, plumped the extra pillows, wished John and Rodney good night and left again.

Okay, fine, Rodney was sleeping over.  John would deal with it.  But first he wanted a shower.  Unable to go running until his ankle finished healing, he’d been in the weight room when the Gate alarm went off and Lorne’s team brought Rodney home.  Then there’d been the Great McKay Chase across the city.  What with one thing and another, it had been a sweaty sort of day.

He was reasonably sure that he’d kept Rodney from seeing him punch in the code to lock the door, but for what it was worth, he tried “telling” Atlantis not to let Rodney out.  Then he went into the bathroom and stripped off.  He got the water up as hot as he could stand it and was just beginning to relax when a blast of cooler air hit his ass.

John spun around, slipped, started to lose his footing and was hauled upright in a strong grip.  He found himself standing almost nose to nose with Rodney – who had obviously seen John’s discarded pile of clothes and figured out that he himself would be overdressed in scrubs.

“Uh, thanks?  Look, buddy, you probably don’t remember, but the rule on showers is that each guy takes his own, okay?  Rodney?  No, don’t eat – well, _yeah_, soap tastes bad!  It’s for washing, not eating.  Here, watch.”

John took the bar of soap, worked up some lather, and spread it down his chest.  Rodney, chattering happily, took the bar of soap back, worked up some lather – and spread it down John’s chest.

“Not quite the idea, buddy.  No, whoa there, Rodney, wait...”  But Rodney was busily lathering up John’s chest, moving on down to his stomach...

Right.  John was _not_ letting this go where it was obviously headed.  He jumped out of the shower, rummaged hastily in a cupboard until he found a second bar of soap and jumped back in.

“Okay, buddy, here’s how it’s going down.  _You_ are going to stand _there_ with _your_ bar of soap and have _your_ shower.  I am going to stand here with _my_ bar of soap and have _my_ shower.  Got that?”

Rodney apparently did, although he wasn’t too happy about it.  There was a bad moment with the shampoo – Rodney seemed to think that because there was only one bottle, the ‘each guy does his own’ rule didn’t apply – but by the time John thought the water off, they were both considerably cleaner.

John demonstrated toweling off in front of Rodney’s all-too-interested gaze and then found himself facing the problem of clothes.  The scrubs Rodney had peeled out of were fairly grimy.  After a moment’s thought, John offered Rodney a pair of boxers and a t-shirt from his own drawers.  He was a little startled when Rodney sniffed the clothing thoroughly – he hadn’t expected Rodney to be that finicky.  But then Rodney looked at him, wide-eyed, set the clothing aside and insisted on touching foreheads with John.  After which he more or less managed to get himself dressed, except for needing a bit of help when the shirt got stuck on his ears.

Getting Rodney clothed again didn’t exactly make the situation easier.  John’s clothes were too tight across his shoulders and ass.  Pink and damp from the shower, Rodney looked like...  Well, _looking_ was the whole problem.  John had been _not_-looking for months and months, he could just keep on not-looking.  Starting with getting them both under their respective covers and thinking the lights out so that he could not-look in the dark.

But here John’s plans hit a snag, as Rodney claimed John’s bed and stubbornly refused to leave.  Yeah, count on Rodney to insist on getting the best mattress he could.  John didn’t feel like arguing about it, so he made himself comfortable on the cot, thought the lights out – and in less than 60 seconds had Rodney trying to climb in with him.

“What, you’re afraid of the dark?  Jeez, McKay...”  John thought the lights back up to a dusky level.  “There, now get back in your, uh, my – in the other bed.”

But Rodney wasn’t budging, so John ceded the cot to him and moved back into the bed, only to have Rodney follow him _again_.

John wound up in his own bed, with the lights completely off and Rodney McKay plastered along his back.  Given the size of the bed, it was the only way the two of them would fit.  Rodney muttered sleepily against John’s neck, sounding content.  Indeed, parts of Rodney were obviously quite happy. 

Parts of John were showing signs of happiness as well.  Unfortunately, these did not include his conscience or his common sense.  What Rodney wanted now almost certainly _wasn’t_ what he’d want when he was in his right mind.  And they’d get Rodney _restored_ to his right mind.  Beckett would come up with something, or Zelenka would.  They’d take a team back to the planet where the accident had occurred.  They’d take _ten_ teams, they’d send every damn scientist and soldier they had to comb the place, they _would_ find an answer, because if they didn’t...  They couldn’t not.

Rodney was asleep by now.  John lay awake for some time more.

***

He awoke to warmth and weight wrapped comfortably around his back and most of one side, to something rubbing up and down against his ass.  It was kind of nice, and when he pushed backwards a bit, someone’s strong, warm arm reached around him, someone’s big, warm hand cupped him through his boxers, ahhh...  Oh.  Oh, _shit_.

John shoved Rodney off and jumped out of the bed so fast he forgot about his bad ankle, which twisted underneath him.  He landed on his ass – ow! – and looked up to find Rodney peering over the edge of the bed at him, chattering away in a familiar mixture of anger and concern.

“I’m fine, Rodney!  See, I’m getting up?  Oh, hell...”  The ankle started to buckle again.  Rodney clambered out of bed, grabbed John’s shoulders and shook him back and forth, not all that roughly.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.  You can let go now.  Buddy?  Letting go now?”

But they apparently had a communication glitch, because Rodney stepped closer, ran one hand down John’s shoulder and arm to clasp his biceps, ran the other down John’s back to cup his ass.  And John knew he should stop it, but it all felt really good – felt even better when Rodney _squeezed_ his handful of ass, tugged John forward to close the remaining distance between them...

Which was when the chime of the door announced Teyla and Ronon, who’d brought breakfast _and_ a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from Rodney’s quarters.  Even better, they helped Rodney get changed in the main room while John changed in the bathroom.  By now it was amply clear to John that any attempts by him to get Rodney naked would be misinterpreted.

On the down side, breakfast included scrambled eggs.  Watching Rodney and Ronon eat scrambled eggs with their hands was _not_ an experience John wanted to repeat _ever_.

After breakfast – and a brief wash-up for those who needed it – John declared a team gym visit.

“Good idea,” said Ronon, who’d been taking advantage of his broken arm to practice sparring one-handed.  “We can get McKay to work out without bitching about it.”

***

Getting Rodney to the gym was easy.  Getting him to the infirmary for a check-up afterwards proved to be more difficult, with Rodney once again stalling out in the corridor.  When Ronon drew his blaster, John completely understood how the big guy felt.  He was about to suggest using one of the captured Wraith stunners instead, but Rodney grinned and started jabbering away and gesturing excitedly.  It was all pretty much Rodney-normal except that he kept miming using the blaster as a club.  Surprisingly, Ronon seemed to be okay with this.

“Hostile territory,” Ronon explained over his shoulder as he and Rodney headed off down the corridor in the wrong direction.  John looked at Teyla, Teyla shrugged, and they both followed.

The team ended up going back to John’s quarters so that Rodney could get the Beretta and knife he’d acquired the previous day.  Then, at Rodney’s insistence, they went to Teyla’s quarters for the bantos rods she’d been demonstrating in the gym.  _Then_ they went to the infirmary.

To give Beckett credit, he barely blinked when Team Sheppard showed up armed.  He was rather more upset about the continued absence of any useful information concerning Rodney’s condition.

“His brain scans are normal, all his other readings are normal...”

“He fights better than usual,” Ronon pointed out.

He thinks I’m his mate, John _didn’t_ say.  “Any point to sending another team back to the planet, Doc?”

“More information on the energy beam device canna hurt – but I dinna want anyone else getting struck by it!”

“Extreme caution, got it.  I’ll set it up with Lorne.”  He touched his radio.  “Lorne?  Dr. Zelenka?  We’re sending another team back to Planet Caveman Converter.  My office in ten?  Thanks.  Sheppard out.”

 “I will take Rodney for a walk around the city,” offered Teyla.  “Perhaps seeing familiar surroundings will help?”

“Take Ronon with you.  I’m not sure how Rodney’s going to react when he sees Marines walking around.”

Rodney, however, objected fiercely to leaving John alone.  In the end, the rest of the team walked John to his office, where John made a big deal out of greeting Lorne and Zelenka Athosian-style.  Reassured, Rodney agreed to leave John in their custody.

The weird thing was that, judging by the absence of comment, no one else found Rodney’s over-protectiveness unusual.

***

Taking Rodney to lunch in the mess hall with the rest of the team went fairly well, although an attempt to walk him through the meal line resulted in some confusion.  Rodney seemed to think that this was his chance to stock up on emergency supplies, and the concept of _asking_ the servers for food instead of just reaching out and grabbing it was difficult to communicate.  Finally they compromised by having John take Rodney off to claim a table while Teyla and Ronon chose food for the four of them.

After lunch, John and Rodney stopped by John’s quarters to snag the laptop Rodney’d been using and then headed for John’s office.  Thanks to the damn ankle and Ronon’s arm, John had been spending all too much time here recently.  When he caught himself thinking that moving his Johnny Cash poster in would make the room homier, he knew his team needed to get back in the field ASAP.

Rodney was suspiciously amenable to being settled down with the billiards game.  John was pretty sure that the background images and sound effects had been different before.  Hell, for all John knew, Rodney had figured out how to change the rules.  Still, the laptop wasn’t networked, so there were limits to the damage Rodney could do.

John himself plunged into a thicket of equipment requisitions.  They needed more ammo, fine.  They needed more C4 and detonators, fine.  But how the hell could they be running short of size 12½ _left_ boots and not size 12½ _right_ boots?

Entangled in this knotty problem, John was startled when Rodney came up behind him to study the screen and comment disparagingly, if incomprehensibly.  “Yeah, I know, looks pretty drab compared to yours, buddy.  Whoa, no touching!  I don’t feel like explaining to Zelenka how you got access to crash the system.”

Rodney’s reply was scathing.

“I’m just saying, it could happen.”

Rodney huffed dramatically but backed off.  John figured he was free to go back to work – until Rodney leaned in again and started running his fingers through John’s hair.

“Hey!  Cut that out!”

But Rodney slapped John’s restraining hand away and continued.  He seemed to be searching for something on John’s scalp – oh.  John abruptly remembered watching chimpanzees grooming each other at the zoo.

“McKay, if you’re looking for fleas, I don’t have any.”

Rodney muttered and kept on grooming.  It felt... nice.  Relaxing.  And relatively harmless compared to Rodney’s previous attempts to touch John.  If John kept pushing Rodney away, Rodney might get the idea that John wasn’t on his side after all.  And at least Rodney was keeping the touching above the neck this time.

That was, of course, the moment when Rodney’s hands dropped down and began to rub John’s neck and shoulders.  Which was also nice and relaxing, especially after John had been sitting at the computer for so long.  It was just a neck rub, right?  Okay, a neck rub with some back rub content thrown in...  Or maybe more like a back rub with some neck rub content...  Oh, hell, he couldn’t let Rodney do this.

“McKay, you have to stop now.”

Rodney responded by wrapping his arms around John and rubbing his face in John’s hair.  John could feel the strands catching on Rodney’s day-old stubble, could feel Rodney’s breath against his scalp.

“McKay.  Rodney, _stop_.”  But even John himself heard how his words were saying one thing and his tone, low and longing, was saying another.  He knew which of the two Rodney would understand.

“_Rodney._”

“Colonel Sheppard, this is Major Lorne.”  The squawk of John’s radio made them both jump.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir...”  No problem, Lorne, I was already disturbed, thought John.

“...but we’ve got a situation on level 2, near the north pier.”

What the?  That _wasn’t_ a level they were using.  If John remembered correctly, the flood damage had been pretty extensive there.

“I’m on my way, Lorne.  Sheppard out.”

When John stood up, Rodney grabbed his Beretta and knife.  John thought about it.  “Okay, yeah, come on.”

***          

The “situation” turned out to involve one junior engineer, two shamefaced Marines – Jacobson and Morrione, to be precise – a collapsed section of floor and a wall panel, flashing red lights and emitting a continuous shrieking noise.  The engineer, a broad-shouldered blond guy who John thought might be named Asbridge or Eldridge, took one look at Rodney and wailed, “I didn’t know it was going to do that, Dr. McKay!  The database said...”  At which point Eldridge lapsed into a stream of technicalese.

Rodney kept glaring at him and growling and shifting to keep himself between Eldridge and John.  Every time he moved, Eldridge turned a shade paler.  John figured that if Rodney wasn’t growling about what Eldridge _thought_ he was growling about, Eldridge didn’t need to know that.

Meanwhile, Lorne had gotten a more coherent story out of Jacobson and Morrione, who’d been on patrol when they spotted Eldridge approaching the area.  They’d warned him that the area was unsafe but then, instead of making him turn back, had decided to accompany him instead.

“For his protection, sir,” explained Jacobson earnestly.  And to win back some brownie points after having screwed up with Rodney the day before, was John’s guess.

The three of them had ended up in front of the panel.  Eldridge had run a few scans and tentatively pressed a few buttons when the floor began to buckle, the corroded supports underneath giving way under the three men’s weight.  The Marines had managed to drag and shove the protesting engineer to safety before the floor collapsed completely, although Morrione had caught his shin on the jagged edges and ripped hell out of both his BDUs and the skin beneath.

The resulting hole in the floor, exposing a long drop to what looked like some fairly cold water, was distressing but not the immediate problem.  The _immediate_ problem was that the panel was still shrieking and no one knew why.

“I thought you might want to look at it, sir,” explained Lorne diffidently.

Rodney would have snarked at John to “flirt with the Ancient tech and charm it into telling us what it wants.”  In fact, for all John knew Rodney _was_ telling him that, since Rodney now seemed to addressing John rather than the hapless Eldridge.

John missed being able to understand.

The wall panel didn’t _feel_ dangerous.  It didn’t even feel all that important.  Maybe they could just leave it shrieking there, as a warning to future would-be explorers.  On the other hand, the production of all that noise and light was undoubtedly drawing energy from somewhere.  And the panel felt _unhappy_, the way the jumpers did sometimes when they needed an adjustment.

It wasn’t as if the panel was _completely_ inaccessible.  There was still a ledge in front of it, about a foot wide.  It was long step to get from the solid portion of floor to the ledge, but John was a long-legged kind of guy, so...

“Sir, are you sure you...”

And _there_.  “I’m fine, Major.”  He couldn’t understand all of the inscriptions on the panel, but there was one particular set of characters Rodney had taught him to look for...  Aha, there it was – the reset button.  John pressed, the flashing lights went out, the shrieking stopped.  And the ledge shifted under his feet.  Okay, calm, no big deal, he just needed to turn and make a long step back, shifting his weight onto...

Oh, _hell_.  His bad ankle.

John tried to throw his upper body forward as his feet slipped back into nothingness and someone shrieked.  His hands hit the floor but there was nothing to hold onto, he was slipping, falling...  Caught, by two large hands gripping his forearms.  John looked up to see Rodney stretched over the edge of the chasm, furious and red-faced, his arm muscles bulging with the strain of holding John’s weight.

“Colonel!  Colonel Sheppard?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Lorne.  McKay’s got me.”

***

The next ten minutes were confusing for everyone involved, especially John, who couldn’t see most of what was going on.  The need to avoid further collapse along the edges of the chasm was the _simplest_ factor. 

The Marines were horribly embarrassed that in the moment of truth, the person to throw himself forward and save their commander had been a scientist.  As a result, they were trying to act both ultramacho and hyperefficient.

Rodney, on the other hand, didn’t want anyone else _touching_ John.  He seemed to understand and grudgingly accept the necessity for assistance in bringing John up, but he kept up a low, continuous snarling, interspersed with barked instructions which no one could understand.

Newcomers kept arriving on the scene – first Ronon and Zelenka, then Teyla, then a medical team.  Ronon was frustrated that his broken arm kept him from doing anything useful.  John caught bits of an argument, conducted in a mixture of English and Czech, over whether looming and staring at the Marines would cause them to work faster or more slowly.

Once John was finally back on safe ground, Rodney refused to let anyone touch him _at all_, including the medical team.  _Especially_ the medical team, whom Lorne finally distracted with Morrione’s shin. 

Zelenka took custody of Eldridge and escorted him back to the labs with a threat that started with, “Just because Dr. McKay is incapacitated.”  This improved John’s insight as to why Eldridge had chosen this particular day for exploration.  Not that John was pissed off about it or anything, but he did have a few ideas about Eldridge’s field assignments and swamp planets.

Teyla persuaded Rodney to let her do a field check of John’s injuries and determine whether or not John was able to limp to the infirmary safely, after which John duly limped.

This time when Team Sheppard showed up in the infirmary, they were not only armed but also followed at a cautious distance by several Marines, assigned by Lorne.  (“So they don’t feel left out, sir.”)  Beckett diagnosed John and Rodney as suffering from nothing worse than strained muscles.  He did, however, make several pointed remarks about the effect of these sorts of shenanigans on the recovery time of John’s ankle.

***

By the time they’d cleared the infirmary, it was late enough for supper.  Rodney insisted on having the team collect their food in the mess but take it to John’s quarters to eat.

“How come the less we understand of what McKay’s saying, the less we argue about doing it?” Ronon asked.

John was kind of wondering that himself.

After supper, Ronon seemed eager to be gone, although less eager to say why.

“Does he have a hot date or something?” asked John as the door swooshed shut.

“Something,” agreed Teyla.  “I myself am going to go meditate for awhile.  Would either of you like to join me?”

John demurred, while Rodney pointedly came over to Teyla and touched foreheads with her, then indicated the door.

“Rodney is still very much himself,” Teyla commented as she left.

Except in the ways he wasn’t.  Which included the speculative way he was looking at John now that they were alone.  He stepped towards John, murmuring something, blue eyes soft.  John’s head hurt, his shoulders and arms hurt, his goddamned _ankle_ hurt.

“Look, buddy, it’s been long day.  I’m going to take a shower.  Alone, please?  You, uh, _stay here_?”  He pointed at Rodney and then pointed at the floor, trying for authoritative but feeling stupid instead.

Rodney looked insulted, spat out a string of sharp sounds and waved John off towards the bathroom before turning away.

Okay, so maybe John wasn’t in charge here, but at least he might get to take shower in privacy.

***

The pounding of the hot water helped ease his muscles, and by the time John emerged from the shower and started to towel off, he was feeling better.  And hey, Rodney _had_ left him alone.  Which immediately led him to wonder _why_ Rodney had left him alone and to estimate the fairly high chances that Rodney had figured out the door code by now and oh _shit,_ if Rodney had gotten out he’d better radio Lorne except his radio was in the other room...

John dropped the towel as he leapt out the bathroom door – and froze.

Rodney was still there.

Rodney was still there, stretched out on John’s bed on his stomach, every inch of pale skin available to John’s eyes.

Rodney, still there, turned his head, propped himself up on one elbow and said something gentle.  Inviting.  Turned a bit more so that John could see him stroke his own cock before he reached out, stretching his hand toward John and making a gathering-in gesture. 

And John was ready to be gathered in, ripe for the plucking, his skin hungry for more of Rodney’s touch and his mouth beginning to water as Rodney stroked himself again.  John didn’t remember moving, but he was standing beside the bed, slipping to his knees, his hands shaking with the effort of not touching. 

Rodney watched John with shining blue eyes, turned back onto his stomach, reached his hand back to stroke his own ass and waggled his hips gently.  His entire body was one long, broad, pale invitation stretched out on John’s bed.  Rodney murmured something more, but John could hardly hear him above the beat of blood in his own ears.

So carefully, so very carefully, John rose to his feet and took a step back.  Another step back and he hit the wall and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor.  As long as he was touching the wall, he was _here_, on this side of the room, not _there_ where Rodney was.

He closed his eyes against Rodney’s gaze.  “Rodney, I can’t.  We’re going to fix this, we _are_ going to fix this.  And then you won’t want what you want now.”  He was still damp from the shower and beginning to feel chilled.  His muscles were starting to ache all over again and he was tired, outside and in.

He heard motion nearby, didn’t open his eyes as Rodney settled down next to him, draping a blanket about them both.  Rodney, solid and warm, tugged John against him, and John thought, I’ll let myself have this much, and laid his head down against Rodney’s shoulder.  He felt Rodney carding strong fingers through his hair and thought muzzily about chimpanzees.  John laughed a little, then, and Rodney hummed approvingly.

It was nice, with the warmth and Rodney humming, rocking them both slightly back and forth.  In a moment, John would make Rodney let him go, make Rodney go to bed, lie down on the cot himself.  In a moment.

***

John woke up to sunlight, disoriented at first until he realized he was still lying on the floor, now wrapped in _two_ blankets with a pillow stuck underneath his head.  Rodney was gone.  John radioed Lorne.

“Yes, sir.  Dr. Beckett radioed me earlier, said Dr. McKay’s fine and to let you sleep but to ask you to call him when you woke up.”

Beckett supplied further details.  “Aye, Colonel, Rodney’s fine.  Showed up here in the wee hours, scared the night shift.  He was speaking English but complained of confusion, dizziness and a headache.  Oh, and an apparently unrelated backache from sleeping on the floor.  I came right down and ran scans, which didna tell me much since they never showed anything to be different in the first place.”  Beckett sounded personally insulted by this.  “But I’m keeping him for observation.  He’s asleep now.”

“Thanks, Doc.  Keep me posted.  Sheppard out.”

By the time John checked in a few hours later, Rodney had bullied Beckett into letting him out of the infirmary, supposedly to rest in his quarters.  When calling Rodney didn’t produce results, John tried Zelenka.

“Yes, Rodney is here.  He is reviewing science staff progress in his absence by telling everyone they have done everything wrong.  At this moment he is reviewing Dr. Eldridge.  You can hear him in the background?  Good.  When Rodney shows signs of fatigue, I will tell him to go to his quarters.  If he does not go, I will radio Ronon.  The situation is under control, Colonel.”

John wondered briefly when Zelenka had gotten so chummy with Ronon, then shrugged it off.  The important thing was that Rodney was back to normal.

***

Except in the ways he wasn’t.  The first thing John noticed was that Rodney had stopped stealing food off John’s tray at meals.  He tested his observation by leaving a chocolate pudding cup at the very edge of his tray one evening at supper.  It sat there, ignored and forlorn, until Ronon nabbed it.

And while John was aware that Rodney was using work as a reason – or excuse – to avoid hanging out with the rest of the team, it took him a while to realize that Rodney was avoiding _him_ specifically.  It hit him one day when he came off the meal line at lunch and spotted Rodney sitting with Teyla and Ronon on the other side of mess.  John had just gotten close enough to hear the conversation when Teyla said, “You did very well in practice today, Rodney.”

Rodney was “too busy” for movies or racing their cars, but he’d taken time to practice with Teyla?  Not that John begrudged Teyla Rodney’s company, but he couldn’t think of anything they’d be “practicing” together that Rodney actually _liked_.  Sparring?  Meditation?

“I’ve been trying to remember what it felt like after I got” – and here Rodney’s hands did something that was either a jumper running into a shielded Gate or Rodney getting struck by an energy beam.

“Yeah,” agreed Ronon, “You were better then.”

Okay, thought John, not meditation, not if Ronon had been in on the practice session.

“Yes, but it’s hard to do both at once – be myself _now_ but get my mind and body to react as they did _then_.  I get tripped up.”

“Like the Gate tongue,” said Ronon.  “I understand what you guys say – most of the time, anyway – but if I pay attention to the sounds you’re making, I can hear that they’re not words I know.”

“And if you try to hear the sounds _and_ the meanings at the same time, it’s confusing?”

“Yeah.”

“I also find it confusing to hear both at once, although this is a useful skill to develop,” said Teyla as she caught sight of John approaching and smiled.

“It’s bad enough when I’m trying to do something physical, but it’s even worse I’m trying to deal with...  Oh.  Hi, Sheppard.”  And Rodney jammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth.

Well, _fuck_.  “Hi yourself, McKay.  Get lots of work done this morning?”

“Yes, and if I had semi-competent staff who could manage to stay out of trouble while I was fixing the _last_ critical system they broke instead of screwing up ten _more_ things, I might even be making progress.  Unfortunately, I’ve got the clowns the SGC sent on the last Daedalus run.  So, back to the labs.”

Red-faced, Rodney grabbed his tray and stomped off.  The rest of the team watched him go.

“If you got extra pudding, Sheppard, I’ll take it,” Ronon volunteered.

“Ronon, if John has brought extra pudding for Rodney, perhaps he will give it to him later.”

That decided John.  “Here ya go,” he said, handing the cup across the table to Ronon.

Teyla considered both of them, then apparently gave up the pudding as a lost cause.  “We missed you at target practice this morning, John.”

Target practice.  Huh.  “Does McKay still have that Beretta he picked up while, uh...”

“Yeah, I think it’s the same one.  He’s been trying to see if he can score that high again.”

John put down his sandwich and stared at Ronon.

“You took McKay down to the firing range while he was in caveman mode and showed him how to use a gun?”

“He was carrying it.  Safer for him to know how to use it.”

“John, I was there as well and agree with Ronon.  Rodney paid close attention, learned quickly and obviously enjoyed himself.”

“Yeah, and his shooting was better than usual.  Finally relaxed his shoulders.”

“Okay, the next time...”  John stopped as he heard himself.  Was he honestly about to give his team orders on what to do “the next time” someone got turned into a caveman?  Then again, this was the Pegasus galaxy, so – yes. 

“The next time this happens, ask me _first_ before you let the, uh, victim handle firearms.”  John was picking up his sandwich when another thought struck him.  “Or C4.”    

“If _you’re_ the victim, can we still let you pilot the jumper?” asked Ronon.

The hell of it was, John couldn’t tell if he was serious or joking.

***

A few days later, Ronon’s cast finally came off.  John dropped by the infirmary to get a prognosis from Beckett.

“I’d like to wait at least a week before I clear him to go off-world, Colonel.  I’d make it longer if I thought either of you would listen to me.”

“Yeah, well, you know how Ronon gets when he’s benched for too long.”

“Aye, he’s no better about letting his body heal than you are yourself,” replied Beckett dryly.  And then: “Colonel, if you’re planning on taking your team off-world again...”

John’s stomach clenched.

“How are you and Rodney getting along?  It seems to me that the two of you dinna spend as much time together as you used to.”

“McKay and I get along fine, Doc.”

“You’re thinking it’s nae my business,” observed Beckett, “But if there’s a problem that hinders the way you work together in the field, the results of that have a way of becoming my business fairly quickly.”

“So asking personal questions is your idea of an ounce of prevention?”

“Go turn that narrow-eyed look on your soldiers, John, it willna work on me.  You and Rodney are both my friends.”

“Good to hear, _Carson_.  McKay needs all the friends he can get.”

“Because he’s lost you from that number?”

“It wasn’t my idea.”

“I didna say it was, John.  But have you asked him why it was his?  Maybe it’s only that he’s embarrassed.  You were close by him at a time when he was not his usual self.”

Yeah, thought John, I was close by.  Rodney wanted to be closer.  And it sucks to try and do the right thing but end up paying the same price as if I’d done the wrong one.

On the other hand, Beckett had a point about going out in the field without addressing the problem.  That would put Teyla and Ronon at risk as well.

“John, if a wound isnae lanced and drained properly, it runs the risk of poisoning the whole body.  And embarrassment and hurt feelings can fester more quickly than any wound.”

“Didn’t really need that image, Doc.”

“But you’ll talk to Rodney.”

“Yeah.”

***

“So, Beckett says I need to talk to you about lancing a wound.  Mind if I come in?”

John leaned against the door frame, waiting.  He was enough of a bastard to enjoy watching Rodney realize that saying yes, Rodney _did_ mind would only lead to questions about _why_ he minded.   

Finally Rodney said sourly, “Since you’re currently preventing the door from closing, you’d might _as well_ come in so we can get this over with in private instead of having half the city listening.  And who supplied the disgusting imagery, you or Carson?”

“Carson,” said John as he resettled himself against a wall.  “He thinks we ought to sort this out before we go out in the field again.”

“Which will be...?”

“Maybe as early as next week.”

Rodney deflated, hunching in on himself.  “I saw Ronon at supper this evening, so I’m not entirely surprised.”  He sat down on his bed, pulled his laptop off the nightstand and began to tap at the keyboard.  “I’ve put together a list of possible replacements.  None of them will be as I good as I am, of course.  Then again, I’ve gotten better than I was when I started.  Any one of the people I’ve suggested is worth a chance.”

John stared.  “So that’s it?  You don’t have anything you want to discuss, you’re just quitting, that’s all she wrote?”

“What’s the point, Colonel?  If you’ve decided you want me off the team...”

“I didn’t say I want you off the team, McKay, I said I wanted to talk!”

“You said _Carson_ said you _needed_ to talk.  _You_ actually _wanting_ to talk is something else entirely.”

“Okay, I don’t want to.  But I think – we might need to?  C’mon, McKay, work with me here.  Beckett thinks you’re embarrassed about the caveman thing.”

“And you don’t think it was embarrassing?’

John shrugged.  “Until a few days ago I wasn’t sure you even remembered any of it.”

“I remember what happened.  I remember how I interpreted events at the time, but I can also see how I’d interpret the same events differently using my normal frame of reference.”

“You told Teyla and Ronon that was confusing.” 

Rodney was silent for a moment.  “You know that picture that’s both an old woman and a young one?  Once you’ve seen things in a certain way, it can be hard to forget what you saw.  Especially if it was something you wish...  Anyway, that’s not the point.  The point is that due to my temporarily warped interpretation of events, I acted in, uh, certain ways that I normally wouldn’t even dream of.”

Wish? thought John.  _Dream of?_

“Normally you’d have let me fall through the hole in the floor?” he drawled.

“No, normally I’d’ve let those over-muscled grunts do their jobs and grab you instead!” 

“They’ll be glad to hear it.  Lorne says they’ve been sulking about being made redundant.”

“As long as they don’t all start imitating that thing you do with your mouth – that pouty thing.”

Rodney had been watching his mouth?  John took a breath.  He had no one to ask for cover, but he was going in anyway.

“Y’know, McKay, this conversation would make a lot more sense if we had some cookies.”

“Cookies.”

“Chocolate chocolate-chip would be good.”

Rodney reached underneath his bed and pulled out a familiar sack.  John had to laugh.  “You’ve still got...”

“I turned in the gun and the knife!”

“But you kept the powerbars.”

“Well, _yes_!  Here.”

John accepted a powerbar, but tapped Rodney’s wrist and shook his head when Rodney went to take one for himself.  Rodney glared, then looked puzzled as John broke his own bar in two and handed one piece back to Rodney, who shrugged, unpeeled it and promptly bit off almost half.

John, on the other hand, pulled the wrapper back only partially from his piece.  He nibbled at a corner, then _licked_ a few grains loose from the fresh surface he’d exposed.  Another nibble, another lick – with more tongue this time. 

He checked from underneath his eyelashes.  Yup, Rodney was watching his mouth.  Time to up the ante.  John wrapped his lips around the top inch of the powerbar and _sucked_.  Rodney froze, with his mouth open – displaying chewed powerbar – and his eyes wide and beginning to darken. 

Yeah, it was a rush to see Rodney looking at him like that.  To know he’d _made_ Rodney look at him like that.  John felt the heat pooling at the base of his own belly as he continued to nibble, lick, suck, peeling the wrapper down further to expose more of the bar, rubbing his thumb along the length not in his mouth.

When he was finally down to the very last bite of the bar, he popped it into his mouth, tilting his head back slightly to expose his throat as he chewed and swallowed.

Then he met Rodney’s eyes and oh, yes, Rodney McKay had no poker face at all.   

“But you kept saying ‘no’.”  Rodney’s voice was hoarse.

“Maybe I just wanted to make sure we were both using the same frame of reference, McKay.  Finally getting...  something and then losing it again – that sucks.”

Rodney snorted.  “Sheppard, you’ve got the emotional vocabulary of a ten-year-old.”

“Does that mean ‘no’?”

“It means...  Oh, come here.  Just come here.”

John stepped forward, grinning, and Rodney reached out to pull him down a little awkwardly into a hug, at first more affectionate than sensual.  Rodney’s body was as warm and solid as John remembered from the two nights they’d slept together.  When they kissed it was sweet – until John slung one leg over Rodney’s thighs and settled into his lap, steadying himself with his hands on Rodney’s shoulders.  He could feel Rodney’s erection poking his ass, so he rolled his hips a bit, rubbing, and when Rodney’s mouth opened on a gasp, John dove in to explore.  Rodney tasted sweet like powerbars, bitter like coffee, but mostly he tasted like Rodney.  John could have crawled inside his mouth to live there _forever_ except that then he would have missed the entire _rest_ of Rodney.

“Want it _all_,” he muttered, and nipped at Rodney’s lips, at Rodney’s neck, then soothed the nips with his tongue.

“I _tried_ to give it to you,” Rodney protested, but his hands were moving on John’s back, tugging at John’s shirt – oh, right, clothes.  John sat back with a wriggle, grinning when the motion made Rodney gasp again, and pulled his own shirt off, tossing it to the floor.  He meant to attack Rodney’s next, except that just then Rodney leaned forward and took John’s left nipple delicately in his teeth, _teasing_ it with the tip of his tongue.  John shivered.  Then Rodney _bit down_, and John _shuddered_, once, hard – and fell off Rodney’s lap.  Which, ow!

“Sheppard, why do you keep ending up on the floor?” asked Rodney plaintively.  “Although you _were_ getting kind of heavy and anyway, maybe while you’re down there you could take your pants off?”  The look on his face was simultaneously so filthy and so sweet that John found himself laughing.

“Maybe I’ll take yours off instead, _Rodney_,” replied John, because really, this last name business was getting old.  He rolled to his feet, prowled back to the bed to make good on his threat.

It took a while, especially when the spontaneous wrestling match degenerated into spontaneous making out.  But after Rodney’s shirt finally joined the rest of their clothes on the floor, Rodney stretched out on the bed, his entire body one long, broad, pale invitation.  John could hardly breathe, needed to touch so badly that the palms of his hands prickled and burned. 

Rodney turned on his hip, propped himself up on one elbow and watched John’s face as he stroked his own cock.  Then he reached out, asking, “John?”

Weapons fire, home fires.  Smelting fires, separating the pure metal from the slag, leaving it ready to be worked.  

John took Rodney’s hand and let himself be gathered in.


End file.
